


Whitherin

by Lady_Ganesh



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M, Genderbending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-04
Updated: 2012-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-03 06:45:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Ganesh/pseuds/Lady_Ganesh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Marlow loses everything, he turns to the closest thing he's ever had to a friend. From there, things get interesting. Thanks to <a href="http://emungere.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://emungere.livejournal.com/"><b>emungere</b></a> for betaing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whitherin

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: References to canon incest, nothing explicit.

My earliest years were spent in an orphanage, tended by an old, plump woman with black teeth and sullen eyes. She claimed that we were 'all friends' there, and exhibited confusion and frustration when I resisted her foul-breathed affections. Still, I was well behaved, and generally kept myself free of her strap. I learned to read from the thick Bible she kept in the common room: _the Lord is my Shepherd; For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son._

When I turned thirteen, a letter arrived at the home that changed my fate. There was a name, and a fortune, all of it mine. I inherited a small home and went to public school. I courted a young lady who made my heart leap with joy, an orphan like myself, and we scheduled a date for our marriage.

Three days after our vows were exchanged, an anonymous letter was delivered to our home, and I was fool enough to open it. After all, one letter had saved me; why would I have expected that this one would be my doom?

Anne came to read over my shoulder, and thus both our fates were sealed.

She was everything to me. My dearest friend. My wife. My sister.

The facts were incontrovertible. I sent a princely sum, to try to keep the weight of the scandal from falling on our home. But it was far too late for such half measures; Anne, faced with her sins....

Even now, I cannot write it. Suffice to say she was lost to me, forever. I strove to keep her name free of scandal, and thus the rest of my fortunes were poured away. My health declined under the strain and heartbreak. Penniless, I retreated, exhausted and lost, to the home of the only man I could still count as a friend.

Gordon Coffin had been my classmate for many years at school; though he had been too solitary and secretive to make truly intimate friends, we shared a commonality of temperament and interests. When I found myself bereft, I sent him a letter, outlining my dilemma in the vaguest of terms. Coffin had sent for me immediately, offering lodging for as long as I might require it. It took the last of my funds to hire a cart to take me to his home, with only two small cases to bring to his door.

I had been born to poverty; poverty had found me once more. My life with Anne seemed little more than a dream. We had been happy, for a time; I had to be content with that, if I wanted to live. I was still uncertain if that was indeed my wish, but at the least I needed to ensure that Anne's name remained unsullied by my sins. I would need to remain on this earth for at least six months, by my estimation. It seemed a small price to pay, for her sake.

Coffin's staff welcomed me easily enough. He had only two servants attending the house, though I knew others kept the grounds. The butler was a slender, red-haired man who generally kept to himself, and the cook a lovely, welcoming woman who charged herself with cheering her new guest with an ever-surprising array of treats and delicacies. She blushed delicately at every well deserved compliment, and I confess her labors lifted my spirits.

Still, those pleasures often felt small compared to the weight of my sorrows. I remained tired and weak, and spent more time inside the house's large library than out in its prodigious fields and gardens. Despite the cook's charming smile and excellent cooking, I felt as though I were merely a shell, with only sorrow and loss in my future.

Coffin asked little of me, which I found to be a relief. I spent my days reading and wandering aimlessly in the mansion. The house was maddeningly large, and I found myself lost in its corridors more than once. One day, when the clouds were heavy and thick outside our windows, I heard voices, and walked toward them; even if I were still lost, someone could give me directions.

"It was going to rain!" a young man's voice protested, loudly enough it echoed down the hallway. "I had to pick them."

"You coulda helped me cover the garden," came back the retort. "You'll be the first to complain if there's no summer harvest."

"I just wanted it to be nice for the master," the boy said, his voice gone suddenly quiet.

A sigh. "Just help me get the canvas down, all right? I don't want it to blow to H--- in this storm."

I entered the great room, blessedly familiar to me, in their wake, which saved me from having to chase after the strangers for direction. The smell of the flowers struck me, almost before I saw the riot of blossoms; the boy must've picked every peony in bud or bloom on the grounds. It assaulted the senses, and for a moment I fought dizziness.

My friend had also chosen to enter the great room, and he eyed the flowers suspiciously. "Was Bob here?"

"Is that the boy's name? I heard two men talking, before I came into the room...."

Coffin had a gift for gazes; if he looked at you a certain way you could feel your soul being placed on the scale, your every thought measured. After a moment, he nodded.

The boy burst back into the room, breaking our silence and startling us both. "I'm sorry!" he said, as he realized that the great room was now occupied. "I'll just-- oh!" Catching sight of Coffin, his face flushed scarlet. "'M sorry, sir, just forgot the garden shears," he said, whipping off his cap so quickly his dark curls went flying into his face. "I'll just get them and be off--"

"Bob," Coffin said sharply, and the young man froze.

He was short, not quite stocky, with arresting, bright blue eyes and delicate features. I guessed he was no more than fifteen. "Yessir," he said, dipping his chin.

"This is Mr. Marlow." He gestured in my direction. "He'll be staying with us for a bit."

"Ah," Bob said, his face stretching into a bright, welcoming smile. "Pleasure to meet you. Sir."

"No cudgels if he goes out for a walk at night, d'you understand?"

"Of course, sir. Wouldn't dream of it, sir. D'you like the flowers?"

"They're fine. And stop calling me sir, it drives me mad."

"Of course," the boy said. He retrieved his prize and sped back the way he came.

_"Wouldn't dream of it, sir,"_ Coffin muttered in Bob's wake. "Tell that to the man we picked up bleeding outside the gate."

"I see," I said. "You're certain it was him?" The boy was built sturdily enough, but he was so small I hardly deemed such violence possible, especially given his cheerful demeanor.

Coffin chuckled, low in his throat. I realized it would be unwise to press further.

Instead, I changed the subject. "The young men seemed to think it will rain."

"No doubt of it," Coffin said darkly. "If you ever ventured outside, you'd know it yourself."

I smiled weakly. "I have kept to myself, haven't I? I apologize. I'm afraid I've been an inattentive guest."

Coffin shrugged. "I don't expect you to entertain me. I'm just astonished you haven't suffocated in this place."

"I've had quite enough of the company of others for a while, I think. I appreciate your leaving me my solitude."

"Am I normally such a gossip?" he said wryly, and I chuckled. Still, it was past time for me to at least get a little fresh air. I should enjoy what time remained to me. I resolved to go out when the storm had passed, and took another book from the library to occupy myself until then.

The storm lasted longer than I think any of us had expected; the windows rattled and shook, and by evening thunder had joined the raucous cacophony outside. When I came downstairs for dinner, I found Coffin in the great room, staring out the window, his fingers absent-mindedly stroking one of the great flowers Bob had picked. I wasn't sure if he'd moved since we had last spoken.

"Coffin?" I walked to his side, hoping to startle him out of his reverie.

He snapped round to face me, his eyes wide and unfocused. "Oh," he said. "Marlow."

"It's time we ate," I said, gently. "I'm sure Mrs. Brand is expecting us."

He came back to life a bit at that. "She's fond of you."

"She's an excellent cook," I said. "Where did you find her?"

"Her husband and Volos have been friends for years." Volos was the reticent butler. "You're right, of course, we're no doubt late." He led me toward the dining room, and as he went, I could see a few scarlet petals drop from his hand.

We ate in near silence, with only Mrs. Brand's cheerful presence giving our meal any animation at all. Her good spirits had raised mine on more than one occasion; I found myself more than once appreciating the unseen Mr. Brand's good fortune. But tonight, the rain had left us both moody and thoughtful, and even her warm spirit and bright smile were insufficient to lighten our melancholy.

Our meal was finished with an excellent pudding, and I expressed my gratitude to Mrs. Brand for her efforts. "Your husband is indeed fortunate," I said.

Her face reddened a bit. "I'm sure I'm the lucky one, Mr. Marlow. He's all the man any lass could ask for. Have you met his brother yet?"

"His brother?"

"He tends the grounds, sir."

"You might have seen him," Coffin said, "if you ever ventured outside the walls."

I shot Coffin an annoyed glance, but he had already brought his attention to his potatoes. The years had done nothing to dull his sharp tongue, nor made him less reluctant to wield it.

 

The rain continued through the night, but the morning dawn was more promising, and I accepted my friend's challenge and ventured out onto the grounds. The rainfall had devastated many of the flowers that Bob had failed to rescue, their heavy blossoms spattered with dirt and mud. Still, even to my untrained eye the plants appeared to be well cared for.

The estate was even more expansive than it had seemed upon my arrival, and I walked behind the house to the small, thriving garden and the wood beyond. A jay called out, and I followed the sound into the wood.

I suppose I must have been there for some time. The thick foliage above my head meant I didn't realize that the sky was darkening once more until I heard the first dull clap of thunder. I had lingered for far too long, I realized, and I no longer knew the best way out of the wood. Still, I assumed I would have adequate time to find shelter until the first fat drops of rain began falling through the canopy above me. The rain pelted its way through the leaves, and the thunder grew closer with my every step. This storm's force, I realized, would rival that of the previous night's, and I quickened my pace. The rain was soaking quickly through my waistcoat, and although I was fairly certain I was correctly oriented, it would still be a long walk back to the manor.

Still, I felt I was making good time, and I was not at all alarmed until the first tree branch fell. Even then, the rain was of more concern to me than the thunder. When I finally reached the edge of the wood, the rain fell harder than ever, pounding into the grass so hard little splashes of water came to meet the falling drops. I would have to step carefully to keep from falling. I took a few precarious steps into the clearing, and for a moment, I felt the hairs on the back of my arm stand up--

I had enough presence of mind left to jump.

The tree behind me shattered, and for a moment I heard nothing. Before I could regain my wits, a strong hand had closed around my arm, and I was being half-dragged, half-marched toward a small hut I had hardly taken notice of in my initial wandering.

I heard little as we entered, though something resembling "idiot" echoed in my ears. The man who had come to my rescue was about my height, lanky and quick, with thick red hair that needed trimming. "Get this off," I saw, more than heard, him say, as he pulled at my sodden waistcoat. The rain had soaked me to the skin, and I realized he was right. I let him help me strip off my wet garments, and gratefully accepted the thin towel he offered.

"Are you mad?" he asked, as I wrapped the towel carefully around my waist. "What were you doing out there?"

"I--" His eyes were piercing. "I was taking a walk, and I got a bit--"

"In _this_ weather?" I recognized his voice, then, as the man who had been speaking to Bob in the house; Mrs. Brand's brother-in-law.

"It was all right this morning...."

He shook his head. "You must be Marlow."

"I am," I said, mustering as much dignity as I could manage wearing naught but a sodden towel.

"Hold on," he said. "I think I have a spare set of clothes you can wear."

He came back with two sets of dry clothing; one for himself, and a second for me. He changed quickly, and laid my clothes out by the fire. The clothes he had given me were worn, clearly secondhand; they were clean, though, and likely would be saved for special occasions. I wondered if they had once been Coffin's. None of us were too different in build, though I couldn't help noticing that the stranger's arms were far more muscular, no doubt from his work on the grounds.

"I'm Sanders," he said. He had dressed; I noticed the clothes he'd chosen to wear were threadbare, and dirtier than my own substitute garments. His smile was open and friendly, his eyes flickering with some unknowable amusement. "Bob told me not to thrash you if I saw you wandering about. He didn't warn me you'd be out trying to kill yourself."

"I was doing no such thing," I protested. I still had to live a bit longer, after all.

"If you say so," he said. "Get closer to the fire, you'll catch your death. I'll put the kettle on."

I obeyed, despite his rudeness, and watched as he walked over to a high shelf to get down a battered tea tin. His shirt was thin enough that I could see his muscles work underneath the fabric.

"You don't have to do anything special for me," I said.

He shrugged. "It's not saved special. I don't like tea much, and Bob usually begs it from the house."

"Mrs. Brand does brew an excellent cup."

He opened the tin. "Bob would live in that kitchen if she let him."

"He lives here with you?"

"Yeah. He's probably in the big house now, out of the rain. Even he's got enough sense for that."

I ignored the insult and passed the towel over my hair again. We sat in silence while the kettle heated. My host was handsome under his ragged bangs, and his eyes were quick and warm. "You play cards?" he asked.

"A bit. I don't have anything to gamble, though."

"Eh," he said, pouring the water to brew my tea. "We'll think of something."

 

When the first round of thunder had passed, I'd amassed a rather large pile of matchsticks, my host had unearthed a half-full bottle of brandy, and we knew one another a bit more intimately. He confessed he'd been born 'the wrong side of the sheets,' and worked at the house only through the generosity of Coffin and his late father. "Jens always looked out for me, but there's only so much you can do once a boy comes of age."

"I suppose you're right," I said. "My position in life was a bit different."

"You went to school with Coffin, didn't you?"

"Yes, but the path was a bit...unusual." I told him my story, as best I could stumble through it, and before I realized what I was saying I'd bared my tragedy as well. "I should've burned the letter," I said.

"Then he probably would've just sent it to everyone he knew."

I shook my head. "I don't know." The ache circled my heart once more. "I never will."

"Hey," he said, reaching over the table to grab my wrist. "Look at me."

I did.

And, may Heaven forgive me, he was so beautiful.

 

The stories you may have heard about public school boys are neither as true as you might fear nor as false as you might hope; suffice to say that male affection was not unknown to me. Still, I was unprepared for his boldness, for how quickly I was drawn into his arms and bed, for his rough, callused hands on my body. He was around my height, and strong, and his skin was tanned darker from his work in the sun.

When he took me in his mouth, his eyes held mine; wide and beautiful, with long, dark eyelashes. It was difficult to catch my breath. The storm regained its strength and crashed against the windows, but it seemed less oppressive in his arms. As the thunder finally faded, he stroked my arm. "Bob will be back," he said. "You'd best dress."

My original clothes had dried by the fire. "I suppose I should thank you," I said, as I buttoned my shirt. I can't say I know the customs."

"Not sure. Never bedded a gentleman before."

"I'm not really a gentleman any more," I protested.

He grinned. "You're still more one than I'll ever be." He leaned over and kissed me, and I confess the gesture moved me. "You'll come back?"

"It--" The thought hadn't crossed my mind, but I confess it held appeal. "I'm not sure how long I'll be staying at the house--"

He shrugged and turned away from me. "Sure."

"I don't mean to--"

"It's fine," he said easily, "you're not in a position to be makin' plans, right?"

"Exactly," I said, but I put my hand on his arm. "This was...."

"Kept us out of the rain, anyway," he said cheerfully, but I knew I'd wounded him.

"Do you come to the house?" I asked, before I realized exactly what I had asked.

"Sometimes," he said, carefully. "Bob likes Coffin to have flowers, and of course we keep the kitchen supplied."

"Then I'll see you--"

"Yeah," he said, and the light came back into his eyes. "I'll call on you, maybe."

"And I am trying to spend more time out of doors," I continued. "The fresh air, you know. I hear it's the best of medicine."

He grinned at me like a conspirator. "That it is."

 

I am afraid that I ignored the lessons of my religious education; I neither regretted nor repented that first sin, and I found myself spending more and more time out of doors. If Coffin was aware that my increased recreation was not entirely out of a desire for fresh air and sunlight, he gave no indication.

The time passed more quickly, and I grew to know both Sanders and Bob rather well. Bob was young and brash, and had an easygoing, engaging nature. Sanders hinted that the boy came to the estate after an early life as unhappy as the ones he and I had left behind, but I learned no details beyond that.

"Coffin's father was friendlier," Sanders said, when we had traded cards for our more customary sports. "He used to come out and play cards with us. But Coffin's decent, most of the time. He has more patience for Bob than one of the saints."

"Bob's fond of him, isn't he?"

Sanders raised a rough eyebrow. "He's besotted, you mean."

I chuckled. "I suppose that's a more accurate word."

"He was already installed when I came," he said. "That was when Racine was still head groundskeeper. You would've liked him."

"Was he--"

"Cholera," he said, looking at the floor. "The three of us took ill, but he....wasn't long after Coffin came back from his schooling, and of course old Coffin was gone by then. Gordon took it hard."

Coffin was so reticent I wondered for a moment how my new friend could tell. "He never had many friends in school," I said thoughtfully, "but I know he wrote home often."

"Old Coffin had a chess table set up," Sanders said, toying with a matchstick before setting it down as a bet. "It was a rare week that didn't go by without a move or two. He even taught me a little."

"And you won't play with me?" I teased.

"Don't have a set," he retorted cheerfully. "And besides, you beat me bad enough at cards."

"I see," I said, and wondered if the mansion had a spare board.

 

But games were not my only concern.

"I've been here four months," I said at breakfast the next morning. "I feel that either I should find some way to earn my keep, or move on."

Coffin frowned at me. "Move on and...."

That, of course, was my dilemma. "I think I might be able to find some work in the city," I said. "And I could certainly pass a schoolmaster's exam, if it came to that."

My friend's mouth thinned into something resembling a smile. "Do you like children?"

I didn't, particularly. "That's not really the point, is it? I can't just benefit from your generosity for the remainder of my days."

His eyes narrowed. "Didn't you train in the law?"

"A bit." I had learned not to take my fortune for granted, after all.

"Perhaps I do have something that will keep you occupied."

I had never guessed the state of my host's inheritance might be in doubt before then, but Coffin led me into his private office and produced an enormous stack of papers that called many of my assumptions into question.

The Coffin estate was governed by a labyrinthine set of deeds and rules; various ancestors in the family had willed items and property according to their whim, and it took me several hours just to sort out the various demands. A few of them contradicted one another, and one or two had been rendered irrelevant by changes in the law. I would need to confirm a worrying number of details, as well, were I to do a proper job.

However, Coffin's area of immediate concern was obvious, even if he hadn't drawn my attention to the letter at the top of the stack.

_Dearest cousin,_ it read in a handwriting that chilled my spine, _I have noticed you are not yet married, and seem to have no intention to do so. I should, perhaps, remind you that your inheritance will fall to another branch of our great family if you are not married by the 31st October. Of course, for a man of your wealth and charm, I am sure this will be no obstacle._

And there was the signature, the spidery hand of a man I had grown to loathe in the past year.

I could see no further.

In a rage, I sought out Coffin, brandishing the letter like a pennant. "Did you know?" I demanded, when I saw him. "How dare you--"

A glance revealed that my friend had no idea what that handwriting, that name, had meant to me. He was outside the house and had been inspecting something that Sanders had been working on; to this day I could not tell you what. At first I had not even realized Sanders was there. "What the devil?" Coffin asked, his gaze hard as flint.

"My blackmailer." I held out the letter. "Your cousin, apparently."

He cursed, and I realized he was as surprised as I had been.

"Of course," I said, my anger ebbing slightly. "If you had known, you would not have--"

He shook his head. "There's little I wouldn't put past him, but I...."

I looked down at the letter in my hand. "Coffin."

"Yes?"

"Would you serve as my second?"

He mulled the idea for a moment. "Can you shoot?"

"You can teach me, can't you?"

Sanders cursed softly toward the dirt.

 

Sleep eluded me the night before the duel; I spent hours staring at the ceiling in my room, thinking of Anne, thinking of gathering her body into my arms, the lips I would never again kiss. My reverie was interrupted by a rattling at my window; Sanders. I had seen him at the house before, but he'd never ventured into the house in such a manner or with such purpose. "You're brooding," he said.

"I am doing no such thing," I said, though, as always, he saw through me.

"Hush," he said, "and let me in. It's cold out there; I think it's going to frost."

I brought him to bed, and for a time, he distracted me with more earthly pursuits, his body warm and eager against mine. When he had utterly exhausted me, I could sleep a little.

And that is how I came to be awakened in the predawn hours, my arms tangled around the groundskeeper's waist, Gordon clearing his throat so loudly it was a miracle he didn't choke.

"Are you still insistent on this foolishness?" he demanded. "Or would you rather stay in bed?"

It occurred to me that either answer would displease him, but I hastily rose and dressed. Gordon turned his glare on Sanders. "We have a door."

Sanders lazily scratched the back of his neck. "Window seemed more romantic."

"Are you coming?"

"I dunno," Sanders said, swinging his long, naked legs out of the bed with no apparent shame. "How's his shooting?"

Gordon shrugged.

I should have been offended by his lack of confidence, I suppose, but I didn't feel particularly confident myself. He had drilled me quite thoroughly in the fundamentals, but the weight of his pistol still felt odd in my hand, and it was hard to keep my hand steady as I pulled the trigger. My hope was that my memories of Anne would still my hand when the time came.

Sanders pulled his pants on. "I'll bring the bandages."

"Your faith in me is astonishing," I said dryly. They ignored my protests, and they both accompanied me to the dueling grounds.

 

Coffin and his cousin's second had arranged for us to meet not far from the grounds of the estate, near the county border. The moon was bright, so we had no need of a lantern to bring us to the site. When we arrived I saw only one figure in shadow, and for a moment, I wondered if my enemy had chosen safety over honor.

"Where's your second?" Coffin asked, his tone even more unpleasant than his custom.

The answer came from a voice as deliberately modulated as an opera tenor's. "He took ill," the man said. "I thought you'd prefer to go on."

I thought of the stained lace handkerchief I'd found in my bedroom after Anne's death, still damp with tears. "I would," I said.

Coffin's frown was more pronounced than usual. "All right," he said, slowly. "If you wish."

My enemy was a bit taller than I'd expected, with a shock of dark hair that strayed into his eyes. His spectacles were small, and it was impossible to see his expression in the moonlight. "Honor," he said. "Such a strange thing, isn't it? I'd rather have money, all things considered."

"Ah," I said, feeling the smile bitter and stiff on my face, "but you've already taken that."

We stood back to back - I would not let my flesh, even through the layers of the suit I wore, come into contact with his - and Coffin told us to take ten steps. The birds had stilled with our activity, and all was almost silent as Coffin's voice counted: _One, two, three--_

At eight I heard a gunshot, and something brushed past my arm. I spun around, drawing my gun and pointing it toward my enemy; he seemed to be doing the same. A second gunshot, and something fell from the trees.

Someone, it turned out, as the body fell from the sky.

Coffin's voice was as clear as the night sky. "He took ill?" I heard the imprint of his boots as he walked toward the still figure. His pistol was drawn and smoking. "I should say so, now."

"Is he dead?" My enemy pushed his spectacles up on his nose.

The sky had lightened a bit, and I could see the blond hair of the body in the dirt. "He's dead," Coffin said dispassionately, the pistol aimed squarely at his cousin. "And I'd like to know why I shouldn't kill you here and now."

"You're my _second,"_ I objected. "That's one reason. This is my honor to--"

My enemy barked with laughter. "Listen to you. One would think you were as pure as the snow. Tell me, did you take her maidenhead before the wedding? How many times did you sin? Did you bed her again, after the letter?"

I could feel the rage building behind my eyes. "It's time," I said. "Past time. Let's be done with this."

This time we counted ten, and I had the sense to duck down as the bullet passed the space where my head should have been. I suppose he should have aimed for my chest; that was where I set my target. It was only once the pistol discharged, the kickback of the weapon still jarring to me, that I realized I had acted to save myself.

I wanted to live, even then, despite everything.

"Did I hit him?" I asked. He was on the ground, but I was wary of another deception.

"I'd say," Sanders said, walking over to inspect the prostate figure. He poked at the man experimentally with his boot, and my victim moaned.

Coffin joined Sanders. "Is it what you expected, you b------?"

The man coughed. "You'll still lose your lands," he said.

"What," Coffin said, kneeling down. "Did you think I hadn't planned for that?"

"It's already in motion--" Another coughing fit struck him.

"I know you too well to think otherwise, Corvid." Coffin spat in the dirt, or perhaps in the man's face; I couldn't quite tell. Things seemed fuzzy, then, distant. Why, I wondered, did I feel so disoriented?

I heard Sanders ask, "When the H--- did you--"

"I'm sorry," I stammered. "I can't quite get up...."

As I lost consciousness, I heard Coffin say, "Of course, it'll be a devil of a time getting her into a dress."

 

"I can't believe he didn't realize he'd been shot," Sanders said, as I woke.

"None of the rest of you did," Bob said.

"We were busy," Sanders returned. "And it was dark."

When I opened my eyes, they were both sitting at the edge of my bed at the mansion, Bob wearing clean clothes for a change, and Sanders in the same clothes he'd worn when he'd secreted himself into my bedroom. From their attire and the late morning sunlight passing through the window, I realized that I must not have remained unconscious for too long a time. My arm had been carefully bandaged.

"Well?" Coffin said acidly from the door. "Is your honor satisfied?"

"I suppose so," I said. It felt a hollow victory; Anne was still gone, and I'd done nothing to address my friend's dilemma. "I wish I could have done more for you, though."

"What's he got to do with it?" Sanders asked. He shifted his weight, and the scent that crossed my nostrils made me wonder when he had last bathed.

"Thanks to my idiot forebears and my blackmailing cousin," Coffin said, entering the room and sitting in the chair across from my bed, "I'm in need of a bride."

I heard Bob swallow. The poor boy's heart would be broken, I realized. "When?" he asked, his voice squeaking slightly.

To my surprise, it was Sanders who spoke next, his voice urgent and tense. "Coffin, you can't--"

"Consider your station," Coffin snapped, "and shut your mouth."

Coffin was always short, but I had never heard him speak to a servant so; generally he allowed them liberties that would not be dreamt of in another house. Sanders looked as shocked by his words as I had been, and Coffin himself ignored us both.

"Bob?"

"Yessir?"

"I've told you to stop calling me that since you were eight," he said.

"Yessir," Bob said, hanging his head as if reprimanded, though I could see the hint of a smile on his face.

"I'm to be married by the end of the month," Coffin said, "and you certainly know what choices I have. You know what I'm asking." Sanders looked ready to explode, but remained silent.

Bob kept his head down. "Don't have much of a choice, do I?"

Coffin looked at him gravely. "You always have a choice."

"You'll be out on the street."

Coffin shrugged. "I have a good education. I'm perfectly capable, and I'd no longer have to deal with the madmen in my family. Whoever bought the estate would no doubt ask you and the others to stay on."

Bob looked up; his expression had turned as serious as Coffin's. "But you wouldn't be here."

Coffin looked faintly embarrassed.

"You still don't have to do it," Sanders said, softly.

"Shut up," Bob and Coffin said, simultaneously.

I had had my fill of the mystery, myself. "I don't suppose anyone would like to explain the topic of discussion?"

"I don't want to wear a dress," Bob said, and I began to comprehend.

"If you don't in front of the vicar, we'll both get arrested," Coffin said. "But d--ned if I care what you do beyond that. When have I ever been able to tell you what to do?"

Bob sighed. "When have I ever been property?"

A snort from my friend. "Since I hauled your a-- from the workhouse, did you forget?"

Bob's face reddened slightly, and he crossed his hands over his chest. "Why do you think I took a boy's name in the first place? I saw what happened to the other girls. They were married off to brutes, if they were _lucky._ Off to tend house and order the servants around."

Coffin sighed and looked up at the ceiling, as though the plaster would send support. "I never wanted things to come to this. You know that. The house can go on as it always has. We'd break Mrs. Brand's heart, otherwise."

Bob raised his chin at bit higher. Her chin. This was going to take a certain amount of mental adjustment. "And if I want children?"

"I don't b----y know," Coffin said softly.

"Though I am hardly a candidate for the bar yet," I ventured, "I think there is some vagueness around the terms of the estate that would allow you to make your own choices in that matter."

Coffin seemed to snap back to reality at that, his head snapping forward. "Why are we having this conversation with these idiots in the room?"

"You're the one who started it," Bob said sullenly.

"Come on," Coffin said, standing up.

"Yessir." Bob followed him out of the room.

"Well," Sanders said, as their footsteps echoed down the hall, "at least Jeanne will be happy. She's wanted Bob in a dress for years. We might miss some of her cooking with all the sewing."

Mrs. Brand, as well, then. "Did everyone know this but me?"

Sanders frowned thoughtfully and reached over to the dresser, where my host had left a pipe and a box of tobacco. I never used it, but I'd seen Sanders smoke from time to time. "You ain't been here long," he said. "And I've lived with her, after all. I'd have to be mad or blind to have not noticed in all this time."

“I suppose you’re right,” I said, and smelt the sulfur as Sanders lit a match. “Must you smoke in here?”

“I think so,” he said. “I can open the window.”

“I think you’ve damaged Coffin’s window enough, thank you.”

Sanders grinned. “Wait until the kids are running around. They’ll do far worse than me.”

I was not sure if the feeling in my spine was excitement or horror. “Dear heaven,” I said.

Sanders laughed, and it was a pleasure to see. I felt wholly exhausted and my arm throbbed with pain, but a burden had lifted from my shoulders. Anne was gone, but I had my vengeance, and there was still goodness left in the world to savor. I suppose I had realized she would not begrudge me a few more years of enjoyment.

Yes. I would live, then, and see what the future had to offer.

If nothing else, I would see Bob in her wedding dress, and that certainly seemed worth the effort.


End file.
